


A Royal Duty

by siriusblue



Series: The King's Harlot [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Drunk confessions, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, King Mycroft, Lord Gregory Lestrade is a BAMF, Moriarty Is A Dick, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Sherlock, Rating May Change, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Tournaments, dastardly deeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: The delegation arrives from Ireland to arrange the marriage of King Mycroft to the sister of the Earl of Moriarty. Lord Gregory Lestrade knows his lover will do what is best for the kingdom but that doesn't mean his heart isn't breaking. And with Moriarty involved, all bets are off...





	1. Chapter One

A ROYAL DUTY

Summary: The delegation from Ireland arrives to arrange the wedding of King Mycroft to Princess Janine, sister of the Earl of Moriarty. Lord Gregory Lestrade knows his lover will do what is best for the kingdom, but that doesn’t mean his heart isn’t breaking….

A/N: Marriages in medieval times, especially between royalty, were never normally about love. They were about alliances and the acquisition of wealth and land as well as ensuring the succession of dynasties. So they needed a lot of careful negotiation, usually with concessions on both sides.

This follows directly on, as in the next morning, from A Christmas Tail. You don’t have to have read the preceding parts, but it helps.

Winter sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating a pile of quilts and furs wrapped around two figures snuggled together against the cold.

Lord Gregory woke first and kissed his lover who awoke with a yawn. Their own private Yuletide celebrations had lasted well into the early hours of the morning when they had fallen asleep, sated and breathless, in each other’s arms.

“Good morning, my darling,” smiled King Mycroft, pulling Lord Gregory closer still, his hands roaming over his lover’s skin.

Reluctantly, Lord Gregory pulled away, getting out of the bed and shivering until he had pulled on a thick bed robe.

“Sire, we have overslept. You must prepare to receive the Irish delegation.”

The loving playfulness vanished from King Mycroft’s expression to be replaced with weary duty.

“ Yes. As ever, you speak the simple truth, my Gregory.”

He got out of the bed, wrapping himself in a quilt and pulled on the bell rope to summon the servants. 

The puppy came waddling up to him, his tiny tail wagging. The king bent down and picked him up.

“And we must find a name for you, little one.” he said as the animal snuggled into him, his tiny jaws opening silently.

Lord Gregory smiled as the puppy technically committed treason by nibbling on the king’s fingers.

“Ouch. As well as some food. I think you must remain with me. The kennel master would not know what to do with you, so I will have you as my companion and fierce defender, I believe.”

“My love, I must go. If we are to do this, it may as well start now.”

King Mycroft nodded his agreement.

“One last kiss, Gregory. Please?”

Lord Gregory stepped willingly into the king’s embrace. Their lips crashed together as his arms slid round the king’s neck. It was a good kiss, sweet and tender and only broken by the sound of knocking at the door which announced the arrival of King Mycroft’s body servants.

Unheeded, Lord Gregory slipped from the royal bedroom back to his own chambers. They were cold and dark and he hastily dressed in his warmest clothing before summoning Philip to find him some breakfast.

The whole court was buzzing about the impending arrival of the Irish delegation so Lord Gregory was delighted when Doctor Watson sought him out.

“I need to look at your wound, my lord.” said John reproachfully. “It may need to be redressed.”

Lord Gregory followed him to his rooms, one of which he had turned into a dispensary cum treatment room. It was warm and smelled of fragrant herbs and spices.

“Take off your shirt,” instructed John and Lord Gregory complied.

John surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction.

“The stitches hold,” he murmured to himself. “No indication of infection…”

Lord Gregory hissed as John’s fingers squeezed a little too hard.

“Sorry, my lord. It is healing well. Try and keep it as clean as possible and I will remove the stitches in a few days. Will you have some wine?”

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” agreed Lord Gregory and he put his shirt back on, followed by his padded tunic. John mulled the wine in front of the fire before pouring it into two pewter goblets.

“I miss this,” he confessed as he sipped at the warm wine. “You and I in the manor house, drinking and telling tall tales to each other. Do you miss the North?”

“I miss the informality, Gregory. Having to call you ‘My Lord’ all the time is wearisome. And there are too many people here, so much gossip and spite. Yet it has its compensations, too.”

“The prince?” asked Lord Gregory shrewdly.

“He and I have become fast friends.” admitted John. “ I have never come across such an agile mind. He could be anything he wants yet he yearns for the priesthood. He spends a deal of time with Father Michael as well as me and he is dedicated to getting what he wants.”

“He will get his way once the king produces an heir. On that note, once King Mycroft marries I was thinking of returning to my manor for a while. I wondered if you would accompany me.”

John’s eyes were full of compassion and Lord Gregory had to look away, afraid his friend would read only too easily how much he was hurting.

“The king will still need his Warden of the North,” said John.

“And I will attend him whenever I am summoned.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said John gently.

“God’s teeth, do you not think I know that!” exclaimed Lord Gregory. “Forgive me, John. I did not mean to raise my voice so. It’s just...after all these years apart he is to be taken from me again. I know that he loves me but being married will make a difference. It will be better for both of them if I am not here. Our new Queen will not take kindly, I imagine, to being in competition with the King’s harlot.”

“If your mind is so made then I will return to the manor with you,” said John. “It will be good to see old friends again. Perhaps I can restart my practice up there, or in York.”

“Perhaps, “ smiled Lord Gregory, warmed by his friend’s loyalty.

There was a knock at the door and Philip Anderson burst in.

“Forgive me, my lord. The King has summoned you.”

Lord Gregory sighed and put down his goblet.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson. We will talk more on this later.”

“Remember to keep the wound as clean as you can!” shouted John as Lord Gregory followed Philip out of the room.

In the king’s chambers Lord Gregory bowed. They were surrounded by courtiers and clergy as Lord Gregory waited for King Mycroft to speak.

“Lord Gregory, I have just received word that the Earl of Moriarty and his companions will be here within the hour. The kitchens have prepared a banquet for them tonight. I would have you here to help me receive them.”

“Sire…”

“You are one of the foremost peers of the realm, my Warden of the North and you will do my bidding, as will my brother and the others. Now go and bedeck yourself in your finest.”

Lord Gregory bowed deeply again.

“As your Majesty commands,” he murmured. He caught the King’s eye and saw the ghost of a smile and his heart lightened considerably as he turned and walked out of the chamber.  

Soon, dressed in his finest emerald green velvet trimmed with gold with his squire and William, his new page, behind him Lord Gregory took his position in the Audience Chamber. 

Prince Sherlock smiled vaguely at him but Lord Gregory could sense a certain anxiety in the younger man.

The King looked magnificent. He wore red and black, the royal colours, trimmed with fur, his crown firmly on his head. Rings glittered on his fingers and his sword hung on his hip.

There could be no doubt he was a king, and a warrior king at that.

King Mycroft took his place on the throne just as the heralds marched in and blew a fanfare on their trumpets.

“Your Majesty, I present to you the Earl of Moriarty.” announced the herald.

A group of richly-dressed men walked into the room, but none could be in any doubt as to who was the Earl. He carried himself with the easy swagger of those born to rule, from the tip of his jet-black hair to the toes of his Spanish leather riding boots.

The entire court, below the rank of lordship, either bowed or curtsied and an amused little smile played at the corner of the Earl’s mouth.

As he reached the throne, he bowed with a courtly flourish. King Mycroft surveyed him over steepled fingers.

“Your Majesty, I have arrived.” he announced.

“And you are most welcome, my lord Earl. I trust the journey was not too arduous?”

“Bad enough, but worthwhile now that we have finally met. My sister will be enchanted with you.”

I bet she will, you slimy Irish git, thought Lord Gregory, gritting his teeth.

“Thank you, “ replied King Mycroft. “But first you and your party must refresh yourselves. There will be a banquet in your honour tonight after we have had our negotiations. Hopefully we may be able to announce my betrothal at the same time.”

“Now that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?” asked Moriarty. “Shall we say an hour before we start the talks?”

King Mycroft inclined his head. “That would be acceptable.”

The Earl bowed again, turned and exited the chamber with his entourage in tow.

The king stood up and everyone else bowed.

“Prepare yourselves for a celebration tonight!” he announced. “My Lord Warden of the North, a moment of your time.”

Lord Gregory stood before him and waited.

“I require you to be in these negotiations, Lord Lestrade. I have need of your wise counsel as well as that of my brother and my other advisors.”

“As you wish, Sire.” said Lord Gregory.

“I do. Keep your eyes and ears open, Lord Gregory. The Earl may smile and flatter but I sense something else within him.”

“As do I. I will be there, Sire.”

“Excellent.” Unseen by anyone, King Mycroft gently squeezed Lord Gregory’s hand and whispered. “This is destroying me too, my love.” The louder. “In an hour’s time, then. The king’s dining rooms.”

Lord Gregory bowed in reply.

Lord Gregory instructed Phillip and William on exactly what he needed them to do for the rest of the day then decided a breath of fresh air might clear his head.

To his horror he walked straight into the Earl of Moriarty at the entrance to the gardens.

“Well, well, the Warden of the North. Your fame in battle has reached even our ears in Ireland, my lord.”

“Thank you.” Lord Gregory was instantly wary.

“Lots of things reach our ears over there,” Moriarty continued. “For instance, there is a rumour that King Mycroft has a mistress.”

“Really?”

Moriarty moved closer to Lord Gregory, his brown eyes full of mirth.

“Yes. Well, what king doesn’t keep a harlot or two? Though imagine my surprise when I find that this king’s harlot is taller than me with a full beard.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” replied Lord Gregory stiffly.

“I think you do. Not that it’ll make any difference. The wedding will go ahead but take heed, my lord. I am deeply fond of my sister. If you do anything to impede this wedding…”

“Don’t threaten me. King Mycroft is eager to marry. I will not interfere.”

Moriarty nodded as if they had just sealed an important contract then turned and walked away.

“Oh, Mycroft. What have you let yourself in for?” whispered Lord Gregory.

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The marriage contracts are sealed and a wedding date arranged. In the meantime, Lord Gregory finds out a little more about his king.

CHAPTER ii

In the King’s dining room when everyone present had been served with wine and sweet pastries, the servants retreated.

“Before we begin, “ said King Mycroft courteously, “Will you introduce us to your companion?”

The Earl of Moriarty had only brought one member of his entourage to the negotiating table, a tall man with close-cropped blond hair and arresting green eyes. His face was heavily scarred, a sign he wasn’t one to shirk a fight.

“This is Lord Sebastian Moran. Commander of the King’s armies and advisor to the King. My father is getting old, your Majesty. He appreciates strong men like Lord Moran around him.”

“And he is very welcome here,” smiled King Mycroft.

Lord Gregory leaned back in his chair and surveyed the visitors. He didn’t trust either one as far as he could throw a trebuchet but he kept his own counsel and merely watched as his lover introduced the other people at the table.

Under his veneer of courtesy, Moriarty only showed real emotion when Prince Sherlock was introduced. There was a hungry look in his eyes, quickly masked, that stirred every one of Lord Gregory’s protective instincts.

“Your father, may he rest in peace, and mine had most of the details hammered out a long time ago, Sire.” continued Moriarty.” The exclusive trading rights, one hundred pounds of solid gold and any child of yours would automatically join the Irish line of succession. In exchange we would want our fishing rights to extend to a two mile limit and the province of Antrim restored to the Crown. And there would be peace between all our people.”

King Mycroft nodded. “Yes, those were the original terms. Are you telling me you are happy for them to stay like that? There is nothing more your father wants in exchange for his only daughter?”

Anger flashed briefly in Moriarty’s eyes.” The terms stand.” he said.

“Then we have an accord. I do believe that the contracts have already been drawn up, they merely require our seal.” said the king. “Lord Gregory, “ he added, turning to him. “Would you be so kind as to ask Father de Stamford to bring in what I asked him to get?”

Lord Gregory rose and bowed, sticking his head out of the door and collaring a passing page.

“Go and find Father de Stamford. Tell him the King awaits him and the contracts.”

Terrified, the young boy fled and Lord Gregory returned to his seat.

“On a more pleasant note, “ said Moriarty. “ Lord Moran, you have the miniature?”

Moran delved into his tunic and produced an object some six inches square and wrapped in silk. Wordlessly, he handed it to Moriarty who passed it to King Mycroft.

“Your bride to be, Sire. Princess Janine.” said Moriarty with a smile. “Done by the finest portrait painter in Ireland. A fellow called Bryn. He’s the best.”

Curiously, King Mycroft unwrapped the picture. “Oh, “ was all he could say. He passed it to Prince Sherlock who scrutinised it briefly then passed it to Lord Gregory who held it by his fingertips as if it would burn him.

The woman in the painting was beautiful. She had lustrous long dark hair, unbound as befitted a virgin, and her eyes were a dark, liquid brown. She was smiling shyly in the picture showing off a full, passionate mouth and white, even teeth.

Lord Gregory silently despaired. He had prayed that Princess Janine would have a wall-eye and a hump. Or at least a few warts. Then losing his lover might not have hurt quite as much.

“She’s beautiful,” he said gruffly and passed the portrait back.

There was a loud knock at the door and Father Michael de Stamford came into the room, sweating and out of breath. In his hands he clutched two rolls of parchment, and a stick of sealing wax.

He bowed to the company and placed the parchment in front of King Mycroft.

“The marriage contracts as you requested, Sire.” he said, then retreated against the wall.He knew he would be needed later but preferred to stay out of the way. 

King Mycroft unrolled them, his long fingers tracing the words, ensuring nothing had been left out or altered.

“My Lord Earl, these merely need your seal,” he said, stripping his own seal ring off his finger as Father Michael heated the sealing wax and let it drip onto both copies of the parchment. Moriarty joined him at the table, quickly reading the contracts himself and pressing his magpie seal into the warm wax. King Mycroft followed suit.

“Now you are legally betrothed to my sister,” said Moriarty. “I will return to Ireland tomorrow to tell her the good news. When should the marriage take place?”

“In the spring, but before Lent, obviously. Why not the beginning of March?” suggested King Mycroft. “That should give us long enough to prepare.”

“March it is. Your hand on it, Sire.”

They shook hands and Moriarty left with Moran and a copy of the marriage contract.

The celebration banquet was a noisy, drunken affair and Lord Gregory had more than his fair share of the ale and wine that flowed like water, stumbling to bed in the early hours where he slept well and dreamlessly.

He was there in the morning to speed Moriarty and his entourage on their way and was considering visiting John to get something for his appalling hangover when he was summoned to the king’s presence.

Lord Gregory bowed as he was ushered into the king’s private study.

“You sent for me, Sire?” he asked.

“Leave us,” instructed the king.

When they were alone, the king smiled at Lord Gregory.

“Come and sit with me, darling. Griffin has missed you, I think.”

On the padded settle they sat in front of the roaring fire with their arms around each other while Griffin nuzzled them both and fell asleep in Lord Gregory’s lap.

“Do you want me to congratulate you?” teased Lord Gregory.

“Not if you want to live,” sighed King Mycroft. “It’s done. Everyone is happy and I will soon have a beautiful new bride. I hope she’s kind. If I have to do this, please let her be kind.”

Lord Gregory kissed his temple. “I hope she is as well, love.” he whispered.

They sat together silently, lost in their own thoughts, gazing into the fire.

“I’ve just had a thought,” said Lord Gregory. “Have you ever lain with a woman before? I mean, you’re going to have to if you want to ensure the succession.”

King Mycroft blushed, a sight beautiful enough to take Lord Gregory’s breath away.

“No, I haven’t. “ he confessed. “When you were banished, my father...well, my father thought he could cure me. He used to send whores to my bedchamber and they had strict instructions not to leave until I had fucked them.”

“So what did you do?” asked Lord Gregory, fascinated.

King Mycroft laughed, but there wasn’t any humour in it.

“I talked to them. I found out about their lives. I would even read to some of them, if they liked that sort of thing. None of them could get my cock hard, though. I was lucky they felt sorry for me and never told my father what really went on in my bedchamber. He was pleased, I think, at this proof of my prowess.”

“That is appalling,” said Lord Gregory.

“What about you?” enquired the king. 

“No women. However, there is a special bawdy house in York that I would frequent occasionally, just to get my cock sucked by a handsome man.”

“I didn’t know there were male whores as well. I’m astonished.”

Lord Gregory laughed. King Mycroft could be incredibly unobservant sometimes.

“Speaking of having my cock sucked…”

“Lord Lestrade, you have grown incredibly bold recently.” said King Mycroft sternly.

“There isn’t a more beautiful sight in Christendom than you on your knees with your hot, sinful mouth wrapped around me.” whispered Lord Gregory. “ I have to be bold to get what I want.”

“Bar the door, you slut.” moaned the king.

With a broad grin, Lord Gregory placed the sleeping dog on the floor and went to do what he was told.

March would be here all too soon, he was going to make the most of the time they had left and savour every second.

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the wedding is fast approaching and Lord Gregory makes plans to leave the court. He is destined to be thwarted in more ways than one.

CHAPTER 3

The wedding party had arrived a week ago.

Lord Gregory was surprised at the lack of attendants for both Princess Janine and the Earl. The Earl was once again accompanied by Lord Moran and the princess by two ladies in waiting and a nun in the habit of the Benedictine Order.

Lord Gregory had time to make the acquaintance of the ladies and found both Lady Sarah and Mistress Donovan delightful company. He introduced them to other members of the court so they would feel at home as this was to be where they would spend the rest of their days.

Sister Mary was from Killarney Abbey and described herself as Princess Janine’s spiritual advisor. 

Lady Sarah was very much taken with John Watson who, unused to much female company, blushed and stuttered whenever he was in her presence. Luckily for the good doctor, she found it charming.

“She is a formidable lady,” confessed John one night as he and Lord Gregory shared a jug of wine in Lord Gregory’s chambers. “However I cannot stop acting the fool every time I see her.”

“You like her then?” asked Lord Gregory.

“Very much. She has had a broad education and knows much of herbs and simples. I promised to show her the poison garden tomorrow. Knowing my luck, I’ll end up poisoning myself.”

“Just be yourself. I’m sure a lady of such obvious worth can see that you are nervous. She would make an excellent match for you.”

“Marriage? I’ve come close to being called a warlock and a heretic because I have no truck with astronomy or examining patients urine. It would take quite a wife to put up with that.”

“I think you might be surprised,” said Lord Gregory, smiling. “You’re not adverse to the idea?”

“No, I would love a wife and children, you know that. However I may be setting my sights too high by aspiring to Lady Sarah.”

Lord Gregory saw his reluctance to pursue the subject and changed the topic completely.

Billy Wiggins, his new page, brought in another jug of wine for them.

“Thank you, Billy. Where is Philip?”

“He’s gone to see the entertainment in Smithfield, my lord. He’s taken one of the Princess’s ladies with him.”

“Has he? Well, good for him. It seems I may be losing all my friends to the soft bonds of marriage soon. That will be all, Billy. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, my lord. Goodnight Doctor Watson.”

“Goodnight.” Lord Gregory waited till the boy had left the room then said. “I am to petition the king tomorrow for leave to return north after the wedding.” 

“Oh.” was all John could think of to say.

“I don’t expect you to come with me, not now, but I should go and see how my manors are faring and that my people are happy. Shepherd is a good man but I have been away too long.”

“Seems like a sensible thing to do,” agreed John, thinking privately that his friend would be better off away from court and from being forced to watch the love of his life happy with someone else. For King Mycroft seemed enchanted with his bride-to-be, every interaction he had with her was given a chivalrous gloss combined with growing affection and loyal John knew just how much Lord Gregory must be hurting.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while then started discussing the acquisition of Lord Gregory’s new horse and the prospects for hunting in the spring until it was late and John was yawning.

“I’d best be off,” said John. “Good night.”

“Goodnight John. And good luck with Lady Sarah tomorrow,”

Lord Gregory undressed and crawled into bed. Billy had been in with the warming pan, but he still shivered. Miserable and restless, he tried to sleep.

The next day, he sought out King Mycroft. The king seemed to be in high spirits when Lord Gregory found him in the castle map room, Griffin at his side. When he spotted his friend, the half-grown pup bounced across the floor to have his ears scratched and Lord Gregory obliged.

“Good morning, Lord Gregory. It is forecast for a fine day tomorrow.”

“That is good news, Sire.”

“There is still much to do. Is there something you wanted?”

“Actually, yes. I request your permission to return to my own estates following your marriage.”

Hurt flashed briefly in King Mycroft’s eyes.

“You are the Warden of the North and my sworn sword. Your place is at my side in times of war and peace. Why would you wish to forgo that?”

“You know why!” The anguish was plain in Lord Gregory’s voice, his pain audible to anyone who would listen. The other courtiers in the room feigned deafness. “I will return whenever I am summoned but given your new status it would be better if I spent time managing my affairs in the North.”

“That is completely unacceptable to me,” said King Mycroft, and Lord Gregory could hear the undercurrent of anger and real pain in his voice. “My marital status is irrelevant. Your place is here. And if you wish to remain the first peer of the realm, I suggest you remember that. Your request is denied, Lord Lestrade.”

Lord Gregory bowed stiffly and stalked out of the room, seething. 

Did his lover really think that he, Lord Gregory, would be happy without him? Did he not realise he couldn't stand the thought of the king married? It had been fine when it was an abstract concept but she was here now in all her beauty and grace, the wedding would be held tomorrow and Lord Gregory’s heart was breaking.

Blindly he walked around the castle until the sound of men’s voices brought him to his senses. He recognised the honeyed tones of the Earl of Moriarty and what sounded like Prince Sherlock.

Lord Gregory turned the corner to find Prince Sherlock almost pinned against the wall while the Earl looked at him with a covetous smile.Neither of them noticed Lord Gregory, so intent were they on each other.

“I really think that you are being inappropriate,” said Prince Sherlock, hotly. “ I have no desire to become involved with you. In any way. Especially not the way you were implying.”

“Ah, come on now,” said the Earl. “ I saw the way you’ve been looking at me since I arrived. Don’t tell me you’re not as hot for me as I am for you.”

The prince looked petrified and Lord Gregory had heard enough. Giving silent thanks for remembering to put on his war belt that morning, he drew his sword with a metallic hiss and pressed the tip to the earl’s neck.

“You heard him,” he hissed. “Fuck off and try your poison on some other unsuspecting bastard.”

The Earl moved away at swordpoint and glared at Lord Gregory.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, straightening his tunic. “ I’ve never pressed my attentions where they weren’t wanted.”

Lord Gregory motioned with his sword until the Earl turned and walked away.

“My thanks, Lord Gregory,” said Prince Sherlock. “He caught me unawares. I would have gotten rid of him myself, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it, your highness,” replied Lord Gregory as he resheathed his sword.”To be honest, I was looking for a fight.”

Prince Sherlock smiled.

“If you need to vent your anger, meet me in the training yard in ten minutes. I can always use extra sword practice.”

“That would be perfect,” agreed Lord Gregory.

There was a banquet that night to celebrate the coming wedding but Lord Gregory had no appetite. He was sure his absence would be noted and remarked upon but he couldn't bring himself to care. 

Instead he took a jug of wine down to the stables and went into the stall of Midnight, his favourite horse. Midnight nuzzled his tunic in the hope of apples or carrots but he was destined to be disappointed.

“Sorry, old friend. I seem to be disappointing almost everyone today. Still, at least it’s warm in here.”

He took a deep draught from the jug and tried to explain himself.

“Couldn’t face it. Not seeing them there, happy. I don’t want to think I’ll never feel his arms around me again.”

He buried his face in the horse’s warm neck to stifle his tears, his entire body shuddering with grief.

Eventually exhausted, he drank the last of the wine and settled down in the straw. Within seconds, he was asleep.

Midnight’s whickering woke him but before he could find out what had disturbed the horse, he heard voices.

The voices were low-pitched but Lord Gregory could hear them clearly. What stopped him from announcing himself was the fact that they were conversing in Erse. Lord Gregory had spent time in Ireland during his banishment and had picked up the local Gaelic with ease. Worse again, Lord Gregory recognised Moriarty’s voice.

“It’s all in place. She will give him the belladonna in the wedding cup. The stupid bastard has a poison garden for God’s sake. It’s like he’s asking for it.”

“Will it kill him?” asked the second voice. Lord Gregory theorised it was Lord Moran for he had never heard the other man speak.

“Yes, and I’ll make sure his whore gets the blame.A jilted lover takes his revenge. It’s almost too easy. I will not give my only sister to a man who loves another man over anyone else. What kind of a life would that be for her? Then we can go home. The new king will be much more easy to manipulate when enforcing my sister’s widow’s rights. Now come on, people will have noticed i'm missing. No one can piss for that long.”

Lord Gregory head the stable door shut and struggled to his feet. Mycroft was in danger. He had to warn him, whatever the cost.

He walked out of the stables to find the point of a sword between his eyes.

Lord Moran smiled.

“I thought I heard someone but I was hoping it was a stable boy. No one misses them. It’ll be a pleasure to kill the Warden of the North. I wonder if anyone will miss you?”

TBC


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking bleak for Lord Gregory and King Mycroft. Surely the kingdom cannot stand to lose them both? Finally complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has liked and commented on this. I'm behind in my replies but I will get there, I promise.

CHAPTER 4

 

Philip Anderson took Sally’s hand as they walked in the castle grounds. He guided her towards the royal stables.

 

“I hope you don't mind missing the rest of the banquet?” he asked anxiously.

 

“Not at all, Philip. I would much rather be outside in the clean air with you. The princess will need me before too long though.”

 

“ As will Lord Gregory require me.” 

 

Philip stopped dead.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“What?”

 

“A groaning sound. It came from near the stables.”

 

“Probably someone had too much to drink and had the sense to get out before they fouled the rushes.” smiled Sally.

 

Then she heard it; that was not the sound of someone with a surfeit of drink on them. The couple exchanged troubled glances, Sally picked up her skirts and they ran towards the sound.

 

“Christ have mercy!” exclaimed Philip. “It’s Lord Gregory!”

 

They ran to the blood-soaked figure on the ground who lay clutching his abdomen as fresh blood welled between his fingers.

 

Where most women of Philip’s limited acquaintance would have screamed or fainted, Sally didn't’ hesitate, dropping to her knees beside the injured man.

 

“He needs a doctor,” she said. She pulled off the veil that covered her dark, curling hair. “My lord, can you hear me? You need to press this hard against your wound. We are going to find you a doctor.”

 

“I need to see the king,” moaned Lord Gregory. “A plot...murder...Moriarty…”

 

The couple exchanged startled glances.

 

“Let’s get him to the Banqueting Hall,” said Philip decisively. “Between us we should be able to manage him. The king and Doctor Watson should still be there.”

 

Sally nodded and the couple slid their arms under the prostrate knight, heaving him upwards by degrees. Supporting him with their bodies, Sally and Philip made their way as swiftly as they could towards the Banqueting Hall.

 

Princess Janine scanned the revelling courtiers. She was bored and wanted nothing more than to have the whole charade done with. It didn’t stop her trying to stir the pot a little.

 

“The Warden of the North appears to be missing, my lord,” she mentioned to King Mycroft. She had noticed how her future husband had continually scanned the court, looking for the one person who wasn’t there.

 

King Mycroft grunted. He knew Lord Gregory would come to his senses. It wasn’t as if he loved him any the less and the thought of him returning to the north was more than the king could bear. He had been angry with him for suggesting it. After the wedding, King Mycroft resolved to make it up to him somehow.

 

The Earl of Moriarty, shamelessly eavesdropping, couldn’t help but retort.

 

“I find that extremely discourteous, Sire. I wold chastise him at the first opportunity.”

 

King Mycroft was about to verbally tear the impudent man to shreds when the doors to the hall burst open. Several people screamed as Philip and Sally staggered in with their gore-splattered burden.

 

“Forgive me, Sire. We found him by the stables. He needs a doctor.” announced Philip.

 

King Mycroft vaulted the table and raced to where they had lain his love down. John Watson sprinted over, closely followed by Lady Sarah.

 

“Gregory,” said the king, his eyes full of tears. “Who did this to you?”

 

“Lord Moran. There’s a plot to kill you tomorrow, Sire. You’re to be poisoned at your own wedding.”

 

“By whom?”

 

“By your bride and his brother. I was in the stables and I heard everything. Then Moran tried to kill me.”

 

King Mycroft’s face was black as thunder as he turned his attention to the Earl and the Princess.

 

“Is this true?” he demanded.

 

“Of course not!” scoffed Moriarty. “Why on earth would we want to do that?”

 

Lord Gregory raised his head slightly from where it was pillowed in the king’s lap.

 

“You’re a liar.” he hissed, then continued in Erse. “I understood every word, you lying piece of shit. I’ll look forward to seeing your head on a spike.”

 

King Mycroft watched the colour drain from Moriarty’s face and knew his beloved spoke the truth.

 

“Arrest them.” he said coldly and weatched as the guards seized the pair of them.

 

“Where to, your Majesty?” asked the guard captain.

 

“Take them to the Tower. Tell the Constable they are to have extreme questioning.”

 

“Yes, Sire.” 

 

There was a loud hubbub at that but the people surrounding Lord Gregory had other things to worry about.

 

John gently removed Lord Gregory’s hands from where he was still pressing Sally’s bloodsoaked veil to his wound.

 

“Give me a dagger,” he said absently, holding out his hand. Lady Sarah pressed one into it and he sliced open Lord Gregory’s tunic. Lord Gregory moaned in pain, the last reserves of his strength almost gone.

 

“I need to examine him properly”, announced John. “Get him to my rooms.”

 

Two burly guards picked up Lord Gregory and carried him to John’s dispensary, the quintet following close behind.

 

Once inside John examined the wound with a professional eye, cleaning the area with warm water so he could get a proper look. Lord Gregory hissed as John poked and prodded.

 

“Gregory, I think he missed anything vital, but I’m going to have to sew you up. And you’ve lost a lot of blood so you’re going to be very weak for a while.”

 

“I’ll prepare the needle and thread,” murmured Lady Sarah.

 

“Thanks, “ said John with a smile. “I’ll have to cut off the rest of this tunic. Sorry, my friend, you’ll have to buy a new one.”

 

“Who cares?” groaned Lord Gregory.

 

Lady Sarah slipped a piece of wood between Lord Gregory’s teeth.

 

“Just in case you bite your tongue,” she said reassuringly.

 

“Hold onto my hand, Gregory.” insisted King Mycroft. “All will be well soon.”

 

Lord Gregory saw John approach with the needle and knew nothing more.

 

When he awoke, King Mycroft was at his bedside. The king looked tired and rumpled but as Lord Gregory stirred he smiled.

 

“Welcome back, my love.”

 

“How long have I been out? “ asked Lord Gregory.

 

“Almost a week. We were very concerned but Doctor Watson assured everyone that you would recover. Sleep is nature’s way of making sure you heal.”

 

“A week? So what happened?”

 

“I will tell you soon. First the good doctor needs to know his patient is awake.”

 

The king stood up and pulled the bell at the bedside. When a page who answered the summons arrived he was told to find Doctor Watson and he scurried off.

 

Meanwhile Lord Gregory tried to sit up but was racked with pain when he tried. He groped under the nightshirt he was wearing to find his middle section encased in thick bandages.

 

“I was terrified,” admitted King Mycroft as he regained his seat. “I thought I might lose you again and I could not bear that, especially since our last meeting had ended in anger.”

 

“I was a bit of a clot,” admitted Lord Gregory. The king squeezed his hand.

 

“I almost wore out the carpet in this room pacing up and down till Doctor Watson told me you were out of danger. He and Lady Sarah have been taking excellent care of you.”

 

“What about the rest?” asked Lord Gregory.

 

The king’s expression hardened.

 

“Yes, if it had not been for you, I would be dead now, my love. They confessed to plotting my death, both of them. Lord Moran was found with a pitchfork in his eye and his throat cut. You did well there.”

 

“I didn’t have my sword, “ admitted Lord Gregory. “I used the first thing that came to hand.”

 

The king laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners the way Lord Gregory loved.

 

“When he dropped his sword, I cut his throat. Still, one less bastard in the world, eh?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“What will you do with them?” he asked, meaning the Earl and his sister.

 

“They are guilty of treason. Unfortunately, I cannot wipe out the surviving heirs of a royal house, so they shall be returned to Ireland in disgrace. I will not honour the contract so they should have no reason to seek vengeance.”

 

“Are you sure? I..”

 

Lord Gregory was interrupted by the arrival of John Watson and Lady Sarah.

 

“I heard you were awake. How do you feel?” asked John.

 

“Like I’ve been stabbed. I’m starving too.” he admitted.

 

Lady Sarah approached the bed, curtsying to King Mycroft.

 

“I have brought you some broth, my lord. Would you like it? Perhaps, Sire, you will assist me in sitting him up?”

 

They sat Lord Gregory up in bed and he spooned the broth into his mouth, suddenly ravenous. He looked disappointed when it was finished.

 

“Little and often, my friend. You have a lot of blood to replace,” said John. He measured something out onto a small spoon.

 

“Take this, you need more rest.”

 

“But I don’t want to sleep any more.” protested Lord Gregory.

 

“Doctor’s orders.” said John firmly, sticking the spoon in Lord Gregory’s mouth and making sure he swallowed.

 

“Let me examine you, “ said John, drawing back the covers and lifting Lord Gregory’s nightshirt.

 

“Healing well, “ John muttered. “Very well.”

 

Lord Gregory suddenly began to feel drowsy.

 

“What did you give me?” he asked.

 

“A tincture of poppy. It’ll help with the pain and help you sleep.”

 

“Don’t go away,” Lord Gregory implored the king.

 

“I’ll be here when you wake up again,” King Mycroft promised.

 

When he awoke again, there was a nun in the room talking quietly to the king.

 

“Sister Mary,” he croaked. “I don’t think I’m ready for the last rites yet,”

 

“Relax, Lord Gregory, “ she said with a salacious smile that had no place on a nun. “The king tells me you will make a full recovery. I must return to Ireland though.”

 

King Mycroft looked anxious.

 

“Is everything in place? You will make sure you survive?”

 

“As best I can. Worry not, Sire. They will not see Ireland again. Tragic accident, lost at sea. No blame attached to you or your court.”

 

“You are incredible,” said King Mycroft admiringly. She inclined her head in thanks.

 

“And I must go for we sail on the morning tide. Farewell, Lord Gregory, for I doubt that we will meet again. Look after my king.”

 

“I will, “ he replied, puzzled. As the demure figure left the room, he started to ask but the king raised his hand.

 

“I will tell you what I know. As you probably surmised, she is no more a nun than you are. Mary Morstan was one of my father’s best agents. She infiltrated the Irish court on his behalf a few years ago and now she will do me one final service. I have released her after that, given her enough money to start a new life wherever she wants.”

 

“Amazing,” breathed Lord Gregory. “No wonder you weren't bothered about reprisals.”

 

“I’m not. And while we are on the subject, my dearest love, I have some more good news for you. Doctor Watson has asked my permission to wed Lady Sarah.”

 

“Oh, excellent!”

 

“He wishes to leave court and start his practice in York. As a wedding gift I will ensure he has enough money to buy the best practice in the North.”

 

“Furthermore, your squire will be knighted the day after tomorrow. After which, he wishes to marry Mistress Donovan. I would very much like to retain both their services in my household. Mistress Donovan is an excellent seamstress.”

 

“It’s about time. He deserves it. I shall give him the manor of Northwood a a wedding gift. He has served me well.”

 

“That is a generous gift. Do not be too hasty to give away everything you own for I have one more piece of news for you.”

 

“Don't tell me, “ sighed Greg. “Another country is seeking an alliance.”

 

“Yes, The Netherlands is seeking a match for their Grand Duchess. An emissary arrived two days ago.”

 

“And will you come to terms, do you think?”

 

King Mycroft took both of Lord Gregory’s hands in his.

 

“My love, I will not be marrying her. Sherlock is. He has given everything up for love.”

 

“They know each other?” asked Lord Gregory, perplexed.

 

“No, of course not. He is giving up his dreams of the priesthood for love of me. And you. Once he marries, I am giving up my throne. His children will carry on the Holmes dynasty.”

 

“So that means…” Lord Gregory was slowly piecing it together.

 

“It means that I shall never need to marry for reasons of state again. I shall become the Duke of Wessex and I would be honoured if you would come and live with me on my estate as my life’s companion. Of course, you will still owe service to the Crown but we have been at peace for so long now, it may never be necessary.”

 

“I can’t believe this!” exclaimed Lord Gregory. 

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“God, yes. A thousand times yes. You know how much I love you, my darling. Nothing would make me happier than to make old bones with you at my side.”

 

King Mycroft leaned in and kissed the man he was willing to give up everything for. His lips were hot and dry but he returned the kiss with equal fervour.”

 

“Then hurry up and get well, my love,” whispered King Mycroft. “For you and I have much to look forward to.”

 

THe End.


End file.
